Some Like It Hot Wings
by moonyprof
Summary: How did Butters Stotch find himself on his way back to Raisins? Dressed as Marjorine? With Cartman? And what if Lexus recognizes him? Originally written for a challenge on FOSFF. net. Not slashy, just very, very campy. Warning is only for the language
1. This is the last favor I'll ever ask you

Some Like It Hot Wings

Disclaimer: I don't own _South Park_ or the classic movie _Some Like It Hot. _Alert readers may also catch references to _Putting on the Ritz_ by Joe Keenan, in which a character comes to transvestism "by means of conscription," _La Cage Aux Folles II_, and definite overtones of _The Odd Couple_. Gratitude and apologies to all.

Oh, yes—and there are two references to Cartman's having dyed his hair during the episode _Stupid Spoiled Whore Video Playset._ Yes, the ep itself is cool, but I have to thank StansFan's oneshot _Tears, Rain, and Hair Dye_ for really alerting me to the possibilities of that hair dye. Go read it. It's on here, or you can find it more easily by going to the South Park C2 Quadruple Stuffed.

Chapter One: I swear this is the last favor I'll ever ask you

"N-no, Eric! I won't do it—a-an' that's final!"

Butters Stotch was waving his hands in front of him like an umpire trying to signal "time out." It would have been hard to communicate "that's final" any more strongly. But unfortunately, it wasn't final, because he was backed into a corner.

Literally. Eric Cartman had him penned into the corner of his own room. There wasn't any further back he could go, unless he slipped into the closet and hid among his Professor Chaos costume and the sad remnants of his abortive tap-dancing career. And as for going around him---impossible. There _was_ one more option that Butters didn't think of, and that was a Rochambo or, as Cartman himself liked to call it, a "kick squa in the nuts." That would have worked, but Butters was just too nice even to think about it.

"Look, it's a perfectly simple little thing. Don't go getting all sand in your vagina about it and shit—you sound like Kyle."

"I d-don't have s-sand in—never mind, Eric, I just won't do it!"

Cartman stepped back, a puzzled expression on his fa-, uh, big-boned, face.

"Why not?" he asked reasonably. "You've done it before."

"Yeah, a-an' I _hated_ it! It was horrible an' scary! An-an' I'm not like you, Eric, I don't like dressin' up as a girl for fun!"

Cartman's eyebrows came down and he glared at Butters, but he only said evenly, "That was for a prize!"

"I'm not talkin' about when you w-went on Maury Povich and all that. I'm talkin' about when you d-dressed up as Britney Spears an' danced around with that cutout of Justin Timberlake and even. . . "

"That was when I was _confused_, goddammit!" Cartman yelled, windmilling his arms. "You'd be confused too if your Mom was really your Dad and your Mom could be anybody! By the way, Butters," he said lightly, "do you still have that videotape?"

Butters shook his head. "Oh, no you don't, E-eric Cartman! I've got that in a s-safety deposit box with instructions to sh-show it at the drive-in if anythin' happens to me! Su-so go ahead, Eric, I'm not scared a you anymore!"

Cartman looked at Butters with increased respect.

"I've underestimated you, Butters. Touché." He threw up his arms and went to sit on the chair at Butters' desk. Butters relaxed a bit and stepped back into the center of the room.

"Y-you mean I don't have to go getting dressed up as Marjorine again?" he said, looking anxiously at Cartman. Cartman waved a hand dismissively.

"Let us speak no more of it, Butters. The subject is closed, serioushlay. How are your hamsters doing?" he added, putting a plump hand on the hamsters' cage.

Butters rushed over protectively. "Hey! You leave my m-minions of destruction alone!"

Cartman shook his head sadly. "I'm hurt, Butters. I really am. I asked about your hamsters, and you just assumed that I must intend them some harm. That's a low blow, Butters. Well," he said, jumping down from the chair heavily, "I can see I'm not wanted here. I'll be leaving now, Butters." He shuffled slowly towards the door, head down, clearly dejected.

Butters' jaw had dropped open. He closed it and began to follow Cartman out.

"Oh, now wait now, Eric, I didn't mean ta hurt your feelin's."

"It's all right, Butters, I understand, I have a certain reputation. . ."

"Well, it ain't your reputation, Eric, it's more what you've _done . . ._"

". . . among certain people . . ."

" . . .to _me_. . . "

" . . .from my younger days that might. . . "

"It was a few weeks ago."

"--let me finish, Butters—that might prejudice you against anything I might say or do. Why," Cartman rolled his eyes dramatically to the skies, "why is it so hard to live down the past? Why?"

Butters looked at him dubiously. "Wu-well, Eric, cookin' people's parents, that's kinda a lot for people to forget about, an'. . ." He was cut off by a shriek of despair from Cartman, whose back began shaking with sobs. "Aw, cracker crumbs." He patted Cartman on the back soothingly. "C'mon, Eric, I'm sorry. You just come on in an'—an' sit down on the bed, an' I'll get you some milk, only just please stop cryin', ok?" Butters ran down to the kitchen. When he got back, Cartman wasn't on the bed, but peering under it. "Watcha doin', Eric? There ain't nothin' down there. That's just under the dumb ol' bed. I don't have nothin' under the bed, ceptin' a few stray socks an'—"

Cartman sighed heavily and sat down. "No. No, you wouldn't. Silly of me." He began to drink the milk with a philosophical air. The problem with boring people is that it is so hard to blackmail them.

Butters climbed up on the chair, still a bit close to his hamsters. "Now, Eric, maybe you better explain. What's so important about gettin' me all dressed up as Marjorine?"

Even Cartman had a hard time getting this one out. "-----I want to go to Raisins again."

Butters jumped off the chair. "You what?"

"I can't stop thinking about those wings. . ."

"That's what this is about?"

". . . and the bite-size pizzazas. . . ."

"You wanted me to go with you to Raisins dressed as a _girl_? C-Christmas, Eric!"

"I want those wings! Those were the best wings I've ever had, goddammit!"

Puzzlement began to mix with the expression of horror on Butters' face. "But why---I mean, I could _never_—but why can't you go alone?"

"It's simple logic, Butters. Once I go into Raisins, I'm a single male. I'm a target. The girls in there are going to use every trick in their book to get my money. And they aren't getting any from _me_."

Butters sat down again shakily. "I-I-I don't wanna talk about this, Eric."

"Talk about what? I'm just saying I don't need them hanging all over me. I just want them to bring me my goddamned wings and pizzas, put 'em down, and get the fudge away from me."

"Why couldn't you ask Stan or Kenny or someone. . . ."

"No can do, my friend. A table of guys is just a bigger target." His voice soared up in a sarcastic falsetto. "Hi, there, welcome to Raisins! Hey there, cuties, everyone in here's such a loser but you seem really kewl! _When am I gonna see you again, sweetie_?"

Butters' eyes began to blink rapidly. "Aw, p-please Eric. Please don't d-do this to me."

"What the hell are you talking about? Oh," and comprehension at last dawned on Cartman's face. "_You're_ still thinking about that skanky ho, Lexus. Jesus Christ, I'd have thought you would have forgotten all about her."

Butters looked over at Cartman angrily. "You do, huh? Y-you think I should have for-forgotten about Lexus, but you still remember th-the _wings_? That's _normal_? And

d-don't you call my ex-girlfriend a sk-skanky ho, or so help me, I'll. . . "

"Well, what do you call a girl who tells guys how wonderful they are for money?" Cartman shrugged. "Who touches 'em and tries to make 'em spend more? That, my friend, is the definition of a ho."

Butters was beside himself. He actually raced over to Cartman, grabbed his collar, and yelled in his face.

"Where'd you learn that, Eric? At home? From watchin' your mom?"

"EYY!" Cartman yelled, red-faced with fury, "you leave my mom out of this!"

Butters raised a fist. "You leave Lexus out of this!" They began fighting on top of Butter's bed.

"OW!"

"OW!"

"OW! OW, Jesus goddammit, that hurts, Butters, quit it." They sat on the bed side by side, breathing heavily. Cartman's lower lip was starting to swell, while Butters had a cut near the eye. "You're right. We shouldn't fight about this."

"Good."

". . . .They're _both _skanky hos. OW! OW, Butters, goddammit!"

Butters quit pounding Cartman. What was the point? Cartman looked over at him.

"You know, if you're going to pass as a girl, we're gonna need a lot of makeup on those bruises."

"WHAT?"

"I mean, I just want my wings, the last thing I need is some domestic violence cop coming over and . . ."

"What is wrong with you? Why do you need to bring a girl with you?"

"Be-CAUSE," Cartman explained, speaking very slowly and carefully so Butters got it this time, "that is the _only way _to get a Raisins girl to let you alone! Get it? They're not going to hang around trying to flirt with a guy who's got his girlfriend there; it'll just backfire. They'll come, they'll take the order, see there's a girl there, be very polite, get the wings, leave me alone, end of story."

"But why me?" Butters insisted. "Why all this trouble? Eric, why can't you just get a real girl to go?"

Cartman turned to him. "Really. You think a real girl would go anywhere with me," he said quietly.

Butters looked Cartman over. He looked like a bigger mess than usual. His hair was ruffled, he had a bruised cheek and a fat lip, he was red and sweating, and his sweater had rolled up, showing an unsightly bulge. Butters was stuck. He hated lying, even white lies, but this seemed like a good time for one. The trouble was, he couldn't think of anything remotely believable. And Cartman seemed to be reading his mind.

"Yeah. The _only_ guy the girls didn't invite to their whore party. To a whore party! The only guy in South Park that when a girl kisses him, she quits liking him! I've tried everything, Butters, cool clothes, hair dye, but it does NOT work to decorate it if you can't hide it."

He sounded like one of those faggy Goth kids, Butters thought.

"And don't say that I sound like one of those faggy Goth kids. Even black's not that slimming."

Butters knew he would regret this later, but he couldn't help it; he felt sorry for Cartman.

"P-please don't feel bad, Eric, I'm sure someone'll love you."

"Someone _does_ love me. I love food and it loves me right back."

"I can't help it, Eric, I just feel terrible for you an'—"

"You want to make me feel better, Butters?"

"Well, yeah, sure I do."

"Then shut the fuck up and put on a dress."


	2. Nobody's Perfect

Chapter Two: Nobody's Perfect

It had all happened so quickly, Butters thought confusedly, as loud music thumped in his ears. One minute he was in his room, arguing with Eric, and the next minute he was trying to pull a long blond wig down over one eye while they stood in line. He turned to his, um, "date." Maybe Eric would understand how uncomfortable he felt.

"Goddamnit, I hate lines," Cartman muttered, jumping up and down up to see how close they were to the end of it.

"Uh, Eric, I forgot to ask you somethin'."

"Well, what?"

"Where are we in our relationship?"

Cartman rolled his eyes. "Jesus wept. Look, Butters, this is _not_ a date, it's—" One of the Raisins hostesses hovered perilously close—"—I, I mean. . . .EY, bitch! I don't WANT to have your mother over on Sunday, I'm already takin' you out tonight, you better drop them panties later on and—and bake me a PIE!"

Hm. Ok, Butters thought, clearly a well-established relationship.

"I just wanted to ask," he said, dropping his voice, "'cause I'm supposed to be _pretendin_' to be your girlfriend an'. . . an' I d-dunno what that's s-supposed to look like, but it'll be easier if you tell me what I'm supposed to d-do."

"Oh." Cartman thought for a minute. "Well, whatever you do, I don't want to have you all clustering up next to me and being all cuddly and stuff. I gotta have elbow room to get through those wings. I need some space."

A lady behind them in the line glared at Cartman. He glared right back. "Mind your own business, you bitch queen!"

They were now at the head of the line. One of the girls—was it Mercedes?—bounced up and smiled. "Hello, there, welcome to Raisins, be sure to try our cheddar chicken poppers!" She led them to a table.

Cartman had brightened up a bit. "This is great, huh, Bu-I mean, Marjorine?"

Butters allowed himself to glance around the room—all those girls, lots and lots of girls. . . "Yeah."

"Cheddar chicken poppers, oh boy." They sat down and Cartman immediately picked up a menu. "Let's see—I wanted those wings, because they're awesome, and I want the little pizzas, but I gotta try the cheddar chicken poppers, too—you think that's enough?"

Butters was confused. "Well, sure, Eric, I mean that sounds like a lot for two people."

Cartman blinked at him. "What. Did you want anything?"

Butters was speechless for a minute, and then exploded, his voice cracking high, "Wu-well, heck yeah! Now, you listen to me, Eric Cartman, you drag me out here, an'-an' I didn't even wanna go, I'm doin' you a _favor_, so you just better be nice to me, gosh darn it, and buy me anything I want!"

A lot of heads swiveled in their direction, and there was a smattering of applause. Butters felt warm breath tickling his ear: "That's right, honey. You tell him!" He froze. He'd know that voice anywhere.

It was Lexus. It was Lexus, and she was waiting on their table! And he was dressed like a girl! And he was out with Cartman! And this dress made him look fat!

There was no doubt about it—Cartman looked _pissed_. He hadn't thought about this part. He took several deep breaths through his nose, let them out slowly, and said through gritted teeth, "Of course, _honey_, get whatever you like." He kicked Butters under the table.

"Ow!"

"_Be on a diet_," Cartman hissed.

"So-son of a biscuit, Cartman, how can you. . . I mean, _you're_ so. . . "

"Just _do it_."

Fine, Butters thought angrily, he wasn't hungry anyway.

"Hi, there, welcome to Raisins! Are you ready to order? Can I recommend our special wings?"

Cartman straightened up a bit and put on his "elegant" voice. "Why, yes, the wings sound good. And we'll have the little deep-fried pizzas and the cheddar chicken poppers and a pitcher of Vanilla Coke and—am I forgetting something?"

Butters pulled his wig down a little more and tried to speak in a high-pitched voice. What did his Mom always say?

"Oh, no, I'll just have a side salad. . . and some D-diet Coke."

"O-KAY," said Lexus, taking the menus, "I'll put your orders right in, thanks for coming to Raisins!" She turned to go, rolled her eyes at Butters, and winked, sashaying off.

"Hu-hey, Eric," Butters said, "L-lexus just _winked_ at me!"

"Oh, please, Bu—Marjorine, we've been down this road before. You _always_ think the waitress is fl- um, being extra friendly," Cartman said, quickly correcting himself.

"N-no! I think she was really bein' friendly this time! Oh, golly! You think she, y'know, _knows_?"

"Knows what?" Cartman asked in an innocent voice.

"_Knows_," Butters said urgently. Even Cartman could tell—Butters was dead serious. He thought some more. This was more complicated than he'd thought it would be.

"Well, no," he said at length, "because you're doing a pretty good job. I mean, she must totally think you're a girl, and remind me to thank you later on, Marjorine, because I will probably forget. Look," he added, seeing that Butters looked dubious, "those chicks at the party—_they_ totally thought you were a girl, right? They thought you were a weird girl, but they thought you were a girl. They even felt bad for you. Didn't they give you a makeover? So probably this Lexus ho---" Butters knitted his brows—"I mean, you know, Lexus must think you're a girl too." He stopped talking. Lexus was already back with their order.

"OK, the wings, the pizzas, the chicken poppers, and the pitcher of Vanilla Coke—that must be for you," she said, sliding tray after tray in front of Cartman.

"_Sweeet_."

"And you had the salad and the Diet Coke." She leaned down and put her hand on Butter's back. "I don't think _you_ need the Diet Coke and salad so much, know what I mean?" she whispered, and patting him on the back, she withdrew. Butters gargled in shock.

"I-I-I, I mean, _holy nutsack_!"

Cartman looked up from the wings—he wasn't wasting time. "EY! Watch your mouth! You're supposed to be a lady!"

"N-no, Eric, she, I mean, _Eric_, she p-patted me on the b-back, Eric, I don't get that, you said the waitresses wouldn't pay attention to me! You said I totally looked like a girl!"

Cartman didn't bother to look up this time. "You _do _totally look like a girl."

"But why—why is she touchin' me like that? Is she tryin' to get a bigger tip?"

"Doubt it," said Cartman. "Remember, she was there when I said I would buy you whatever you wanted, dammit, so she knows that if she's getting a tip, it's coming from me."

"Su-so. . . I don't get it, why's she actin' like this?"

Cartman shrugged. "I dunno, dude, she's probably just lezzing out on you or something, it happens." He went on to the pizzas.

Butters stabbed at his salad. Dang it, he hated salads, maybe he could steal a wing from Cartman—nope, they were all gone. "That's another thing I didn't get—when I was going to the slumber party, you said for me to go with it if they started lezzing out."

Cartman actually dropped the pizza he was holding. He looked across to Butters, eyes like saucers.

"Did they?" he said at last. That was funny. Butters would have sworn that _nothing_ was more interesting to Cartman than deep-fried pizza.

"I dunno, Eric, that's the problem, I dunno what lezzing out _means_."

"Oh." Cartman looked disappointed. "Hmm. Well, you know when we had that substitute teacher, Miss Ellen, you know, the one even Stan fell in love with. Chef asked her out on a date and he said it didn't go too well, because she was the kind of girl, who, you know, _doesn't like Chef_."

Butters was now totally confused. "So that's what lezzing out is?" he asked. "It's when a girl doesn't want to date Chef? So like, my mom lezzes out because she doesn't date Chef?"

Cartman was getting confused, too. "Listen, Bu-, I mean Marjorine, how am _I _ supposed to know? She's your mom!"

"Well, but Mom _doesn't _date Chef. You know that. 'Cause she's married!"

Cartman was now getting annoyed. "_That _doesn't make any difference, dumbass! Your Dad's married too, and he was going down to all those movie theatres and bath houses and stuff!"

The coins finally dropped. "Oh. _Oh. _So, like, lezzing out—"

"Yeah, it's like when girls get together like your Dad—you know, like that. Anything like that happen at the party?" Cartman asked hopefully.

"No."

"Oh," Cartman said, looking totally disillusioned. He went back to clearing off the cheesy chicken poppers.

Butters was in shock. Was _that_ why he hadn't gotten anywhere with Lexus? Because he liked her, but she didn't like boys? Well, that would make sense, it would explain why she was only nice to him before when he had money and now that he was a girl . . . He tried to drink his Diet Coke. Darn it, he hated diet soda, too, and he hated the way the dress was bunching up under his butt, and Cartman was being worse than usual, and gosh knew that was pretty bad.

"Eric," he said, "I don't wanna be a girl anymore. I hate being a girl."

Now everyone was _really _looking at them. There was total silence. Somewhere, a spoon dropped. Cartman dropped his head into his hands, ignoring the wing sauce that was now getting in his hair.

"Great, Butters, just great," he muttered, "that was really helpful, that was truly craptastic, what the fuck do you think you're doing? Look," he hissed quietly, "I can't make you into a girl, but I can help the process along by sawing your _balls_ off later, is that what you want me to do, huh?"

Butters tried to think of something to say to repair the damage, but Cartman was already getting out of his seat and dropping some money on the table.

"Ok, here's the damages, bitch, I covered it all, but if you think I'm leaving with _you_ you must be crazier than usual. Screw you," he added, taking a deep breath, "I'm going home."

And Cartman stalked off into the night.


	3. The Raisin's Girls Handbook

Author's note: Lexus's explanation of the requirements of her job comes straight out of the Hooter's Girls Employee Handbook. And I'm not apologizing for that.

Chapter Three: The Raisins Girl's Handbook

Butters was still trying to figure out what was going on when he felt an arm around his shoulder. Someone was handing him a moist paper towel and some napkins and sitting down next to him.

"I saw the whole thing," she said. "Here, sweetheart, don't cry over a jerk like him, your boyfriend doesn't deserve you."

Butters shook his head slowly. "H-he wasn't my boyfriend."

Lexus squeezed him around the shoulders. "Well, no! Not after the way he behaved, nagging you about _your_ weight, I mean, who does he think he is?"

"I-I better go now." Butters started to get up, but Lexus pushed him down in his seat.

"Listen," she said, "my shift is ending soon, and I don't think you should be alone. Why don't you wait for me and I'll walk you to the bus stop or wherever?"

Butters tried to give her the paper towel back. "I don't think I n-need this, " he said.

"That's right, sweetie, don't you cry one tear over _him_!"

He looked up at her, still clutching the paper towel. "Hu-hey. Why are you bein' so nice to me?"

Lexus smiled at him. "Oh, you know. We girls have got to stick together! Gotta go!" And she bounced off to another table.

Butters sat stunned. Cartman was right! He had been right all along! Lexus was one of those girls who _didn't like Chef. _Whatever they were called.

He didn't know how long he sat there, maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour, but then he felt a tap on his shoulder. "OK!" Lexus said cheerfully. "Time to go!" She was wearing a short raincoat over her Raisins uniform. "Do you have a coat?"

"No-no," Butters stammered, worse than usual, "i-it . . . I d-didn't. . . .it w-wasn't. . . .Hey, aren't you hot? What do you have to wear that coat for?"

"Can't wear the uniform outside, it's one of the rules. Come on," Lexus said, slipping her arm through his. They went out through the front doors. The last time he'd walked this way with Lexus, a big bodyguard had been standing in between them, and now she was alone with him, holding his arm. It really was a warm night, almost hot, and humid, too. "OK," she said, "now I can tell you."

"What?" Butters said, his voice rising. "Are you lezzing out on me or something? Hu-hey, what's the d-deal with you, anyway?"

Lexus dropped his arm. She looked mad, then disappointed. "No," she said finally. "No. I was just trying to be friendly. I know what it's like to have to deal with jerks like your boyfriend. I deal with them all day. _Every _day."

Butters didn't say anything. There didn't seem to be anything to say. "I'm sorry," he said finally.

"That's ok," she said, trying to smile a bit more. "I guess maybe it _did _seem a little funny—but honest, I was just trying to be helpful. Say, what's your name?"

"Marjorine."

"Well, Marjorine, I'm Lexus," she said, starting to walk with him again. "I don't know, you seem like such a nice person, and he seemed so mean—so pushy."

"You don't know the half of it, " Butters agreed.

"I mean, " Lexus went on, "look at the way he was trying to control your appearance. That really gets me. Every day when I get ready for work, I have to look perfect. My hair has to be dried and styled, I can't wear a hat or a scrunchie or anything in my hair. I can only wear certain colors of lipstick and fingernail polish. I have to carry an extra pair of pantyhose, because if I snag them I could be sent home. I have to be _camera ready_—do you know what that means, Marjorine?"

"No, I don't," he said honestly.

"It means I have to look—at any moment—like I could pose for a calendar picture. I have to sign an agreement that says I understand that 'the work environment is one in which joking and innuendo based on female sex appeal is commonplace.' So pretty much, no matter what a guy says to me," she said, "I've got to let it go and smile and bring him his wings."

This brought up something Butters wasn't sure he wanted to think about. "Bu-but," he said, "I'm sure _some_ nice guys must come in there, you know, some guys who want to be your boyfriend."

Lexus laughed. "Oh, boy, you said it! They _all_ want to be your boyfriend, but jeez, honestly, would you date a guy you met that way, Marjorine? I can't anyway, because that's the rules: I can't date customers. All I can do is smile and say that I hope he comes back to Raisins. I have to treat them all the same."

"Bu-but. . . " Butters said, a little angrily, "isn't that like being a ho?"

"What is _wrong_ with you, Marjorine?" Lexus snapped. "First you think I'm a lesbian. Now you're calling me a ho. How dare you talk to me like that? You don't even know me!"

That was true, Butters realized. He _didn't_ know her. In fact, this was the most she'd ever really said to him, if you didn't count, "Hi, welcome to Raisins, why don't you come down to Raisins, sweetie, hey there, cutie, can I take your order?" Still. . . .

"But there must be _some_ guys, " he said slowly, "who—you know—think you really mean it."

Lexus snorted. "Oh, come _on_, Marjorine. What guy would be that naïve?"

There was a long, long pause. "I-I was, " he said softly.

"What?" she said.

"Me." Butters took off his wig. His head started getting wet; it must have started to rain and he hadn't even noticed. "You know. Butters." She stared at him. "Your ex-boyfriend. B-Butters." It still didn't seem to be registering. "Butters Stotch." Still nothing. "_Leopold_ Stotch."

"Oh," she said finally. "Are you that kid who was in the dance contest?"

"Yeah," he said. "An' I was your boyfriend."

She shook her head. "No, you weren't."

He sighed. "I guess I thought I was."

"Oh," she said. "_Butters_. I think I remember you now. You brought your parents down to Raisins, didn't you?"

Butters hadn't needed the napkins she'd handed him before, but he sure felt like he needed them now.

"Wow," she said slowly. "Wow." They started to walk through the light rain, a bit slower this time. "But—" she said, "why are you wearing a dress? Why were you there with that guy? Are you, like, gay?"

"Wu-why would I be so upset about—what makes you think I'd be g-gay? I called you for _weeks_!"

"Well, you could be bi, I mean, I wouldn't know."

"No," said Butters, "I'm not—and d-don't change the subject, L-Lexus, you really broke my heart!" He dropped the wig on the sidewalk—that stupid wig—and looked down at it, not really seeing it. "It sure did hurt," he said, finally.

"Oh, Butters. I'm really, really sorry. Really, really, sorry, " she added, and put her arm around him again.

Butters shrugged his shoulders. "What's that for? I'm no girl. I don't have no money. What are you huggin' me for?"

"Because I'm sorry you're having such a bad day. Look, " said Lexus, "I don't know who that guy was—"

"Eric Cartman," Butters said, dully.

"—But from the little I saw he was acting like a real bully."

"Well, he is one," Butters admitted.

"He made you wear that dress, didn't he?"

"Yeah."

"What I want to know is—"

"How?"

"No. I want to know _why_. _Why_ did you let him bully you into putting on a dress?"

Butters thought very hard.

"Because I felt sorry for him."

Lexus sighed. "Oh, _Butters_. You can't date people because you feel _sorry_ for them!"

"No," said Butters, "I guess not."

"Why do you feel sorry for him, anyway?"

"Well," Butters said, "because he said he can't ever get a date. 'Cause he's too b-big-boned and no girl likes him."

"You were on a date with him. Would you like him? Would you go on a second date with him?"

"Well, no."

"Because he's fat?"

"No."

"That's right. I know you don't believe this, but I see guys every day—_every _day, Butters—and some of them act like your friend, and some don't. The ones who act like your friend, it doesn't matter what they look like. He could go on a diet and—and, I don't know—_dye his hair_ and wear cool clothes and he would still be a guy I wouldn't date, and no," she lifted her head up, "you couldn't pay me enough money to go anywhere with him."

The rain had stopped. Butters felt very small now. "Wu-well, " he stammered, "Wu-what about me? Would you go out with me?"

Lexus put her hand on his shoulder. "Maybe, Butters, maybe if I met you somewhere else, some other time. I don't even know how old you are. I think you're too young to worry about girlfriends, but if you do want to find one, find a girlfriend at school or church, or doing something you like. Maybe," she smiled, "a girl who can dance."

"G-gosh, I s-sure hope not," Butters said fervently.

"But don't try to find a girlfriend at a restaurant, especially not waiting on your table. A waitress _has_ to be nice to you, see? Because it's just her job. Find someone who doesn't have to be nice to you, who just likes you for you. I guarantee she won't care about getting money out of you if she likes you." She looked up, "Wow. This is my bike, Butters. I've really gotta go now."

"Oh—ok, Lexus. Could I tell my friend some of what you said?"

"Maybe," she shrugged, "if you think it'll do any good."

"I think it might," Butters said honestly. "Poor ol' Eric, he's so worried about people thinkin' he's fat, he forgets to just be nice."

"Well, if you think he can be nice, Butters, go ahead and try."

"Oh, I'm _sure_ he is," Butters insisted, "deep down. Way deep down."

Lexus smiled at him one more time. "Well, _you're_ nice, Butters. You're nice through and through. And," she added, as he looked a bit dubious, "I'm _not_ saying that because I have to. I _don't_ have to. I'm not going to say 'See you at Raisins,' because this _isn't_ work. But maybe I'll run into you someday." She gave him a quick hug. "You take care of yourself, Butters. Be careful out there." She threw one leg over her bike, waved goodbye, and rode off down the damp street.

He waved goodbye back. I will, Lexus, he thought. I will.


End file.
